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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273184">The Jack Sour</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess'>colisahotnorthernmess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jack Taylor (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Detectives, Drinking &amp; Talking, Drunken Confessions, First Time, Hero Worship, Kissing, M/M, May/December Relationship, Older Man/Younger Man, Touching, Unconventional Relationship, Unrequited Crush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:40:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's no secret that Cody has been obsessed with famed detective and charming rogue, Jack Taylor for years, just waiting day-on-day in his local pub for the day he came back to Galway. It's always been his dream to work on cases with Jack, and he's lucky enough for it to have come true.</p><p>But what about his other, untold, more private dreams of Jack? Could they ever come true? Gossip from a local drunkard gives him both hope and a feeling in his gut like he's swallowed a brick. Could it be possible that Jack isn't entirely straight?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Taylor/Cody Farraher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Jack Sour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set during Episode 3. Spoilers up to the end of this episode.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Liam 'Cody' Farraher had thought himself a good detective - that was until he'd met the famed Jack Taylor. He thought he'd known all of the right questions to ask, all of the right movements to make - he'd watched every boxset of Columbo and had the private dick routine practised to perfection. But, sometimes, it wasn't about the questions you asked, and sometimes it wasn't about the movements you made; sometimes, it was about everything you <em>didn't </em>do, or didn't say to a suspect - and the waiting, the long game - hanging around until they made their first mistake, which they almost always, inevitably, did. His mother had been right alright - perhaps she would have made a half-decent detective herself - when she'd said how Cody was obsessed with Jack growing up, after his father had left. And, yes, maybe Cody had needed a role model in his life after his father had passed away. Why would he ever look up to footballers and pop idols when he could look up to the stars?-- Stare upwards to a man who was truly brilliant in his eyes; someone whose vocation helped others in their most desperate time of need, and someone who answered only to himself.</p><p class="western">Farraher had never thrown away those old scrapbook cuttings he had of Jack - they were still stuffed in the same drawer. Truth be told, he never stopped looking up to the man - never stopped obsessing over the legend that was Jack Taylor - so it didn't seem an appropriate time to dispose of them. One thing he did realise, however, was how the Taylor he worshipped back then was not the same one he knew now. A still photograph in black and white, ripped from the newspaper, could hardly depict him - he was larger than life, and in full colour. And a non-moving image couldn't capture his wily grin, his impish mannerisms, and the charming way his eyes would crease at the corners when he smiled, the blue hue of the irises seemingly deepening as the intensity within him grew - his impetuousness when answers seemed out of his reach, and his smug beauty when cases became solved. But, nonetheless, even if he now knew that Jack's wonders ran far deeper than anything he could have gleaned from press clippings, he still looked back on that time with a great fondness - in the way that one would over a childhood crush, or a poster of a pin-up on their bedroom wall.</p><p class="western">They were on the case. By <em>god</em>, that was something he'd always wanted to say. He had to pinch himself occasionally, just to make sure that all of this was real - that he and his hero were actually working together. He never thought any of this would happen. But, as it turned out, if you make yourself useful enough, you can be too much of a good thing to pass up. Jack had always worked alone, but it was true what Cody had said about needing someone to watch your back. Cody had worked tirelessly on researching the 'Pikemen' vigilante group and had proved his abilities to Jack ten times over, but what had really counted was when Cody took Jack in - when the former guard was on the run, accused of murder - when he and his mammy had tended to Jack's injuries and given him a bed for the night, putting <em>themselves</em> at risk in doing so. So Taylor and Cody - the dynamic duo - were <em>on the case</em>. And they were in The Crane, Jack's local pub and all-round favourite place to be. In time, it had become Farraher's too - after all of the time he had spent in there after he'd heard that Jack frequented the place; while Taylor was away in Dublin, he'd quizzed anyone and everyone to learn everything he could about Jack and when he would be returning.</p><p class="western">There was an evil nun at large and a crippled narcotics dealer who was trying to kill Jack - and that was just in the last twenty-four hours or so. Jack needed a drink, and - when he raised his eyebrows at Cody in expectation - the younger man squeezed out of the booth and headed to the bar. Not wanting to come across as too clingy, even though Cody was practically <em>besotted</em> with the gruff, ginger-haired detective - he made a point of not looking back, over his shoulder. But, in not doing so, it meant that he hadn't seen Jack leaning out of the alcove, studying the rear of him with an admiring glance. A scruffy, drunken, bearded man, who was propped up by the bar and teetering precariously on a stool, witnessed the action and shook his head, but didn't say anything. The Galway lad felt that the mood could do with lightening a little, and he returned with a flamboyant-looking drink in a cocktail glass, adorned with a pink miniature umbrella and other decorations. Jack glared at the glass and brought it to his lips, wincing as he nearly had his own eye out.</p><p class="western">"What. The hell. Is that?" Jack asked, in stilted sentences. The ice rattled in the glass as Jack's hand, mildly trembling, placed it back onto the beer-mat.</p><p class="western">"You looked so long in the face, I thought you might fancy trying something new," Cody grinned, knowing that the arrival of such an aberration would provoke a reaction from Jack.</p><p class="western">Taylor slowly slid the beverage across the table and back across to Farraher's side. "Guinness, <em>please</em> ," he said, through gritted teeth.</p><p class="western">Cody smirked - half-smiled - before snatching away the glass and once again rising from his seat, to go up to the bar.</p><p class="western">"Did he not go for that? Your man?" the drunkard, who was sat next to the pumps, slurred - with a little giggle.</p><p class="western">"No," Cody sarcastically replied. But his attention was drawn by the bell above the door ringing and Father Malachy making his way through the gap, ambling between the tables to reach Jack - the ever-present cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He turned back to the inebriated chap who was cradling a cider in one hand and trying to stop himself from falling sideways with the other. He was called Paddy Doyle and he'd been around a long time - longer than himself for sure and possibly even longer than Jack. He'd often chatted to him in the past, when he had been trying to learn more about the infamous Taylor and his whereabouts. But, back then, the fellow had clearly been wary of Cody, and had been careful with his choice of words. These days, it appeared his lips were looser, and ready to spill. In his informal approach, Cody had learned to become so much of a better interrogator - Jack must have been rubbing off on him. And the less said about that phrase, the better - especially given what Paddy was about to reveal.</p><p class="western">"I thought it was fer you, if I'm being honest," Doyle blurted. "Thought you were... You know," and he nodded towards Farraher. "The pair of yus."</p><p class="western">"Look. Just what are you trying to say? Are you angling for a fight?"</p><p class="western">"All I'm saying is... You wouldn't be the first, lad," Paddy opened his arms and threw his hands upwards, "With Jack."</p><p class="western">"I don't believe you," Cody uttered, nervously - peering behind himself to see that Jack wasn't within earshot; fortunately, he seemed to be in deep conversation with the priest which had just entered the booth.</p><p class="western">"We can all be a little less discerning when we've had a drink or two," the sozzled Irishman laughed, "And Jack...? Well, he's usually had more than two drinks, hasn't he?" He then burst into hysterics, obviously thinking that his joke had been more amusing than it actually was. But it seriously gave Cody something to think about. And, for the first time - if he were to admit it to himself - he allowed his thoughts to venture into something which had previously been forbidden by his own making - thoughts of hero worship becoming something else entirely. A sweat prickled at the back of his neck, and he smoothed the wet hairs down with his left hand, allowing himself to turn to the right and observe Jack. The man looked devastated, regarding something which Cody would later realise had nothing to do with him - Father Malachy was informing Jack of his mother having been hospitalised from a stroke earlier that day. But, in that moment, Cody was convinced that Jack could somehow read his lewd and shameless thoughts - knew that Cody had been <em>undressing </em>Jack with his eyes - and bore a look of sheer disgust at the very idea.</p><p class="western">It never left Cody's mind that day, and - believe me - there had been plenty to distract him from it. They'd managed to get to the bottom of this particular case; if the pair didn't crack a case in the initial stages, it didn't usually take too long until the solution leapt up and smacked them in the face. Hell, trouble followed Jack around like he was an industrial-strength magnet. The success was cause for celebration - a drink. That evening, as the pair of them had rushed out of the cold Irish air and into the warm bosom of The Crane pub, Jack made a beeline for his regular seat and gave Cody his marching orders - in other words, not to bother coming back if he didn't have the drinks. He tapped him on the shoulder before walking on by. "Bring back anything with an umbrella in it and you're dead. I'm just not that sort of bloke, you know," he snorted, his hand now splayed out against Farraher's back.</p><p class="western">But something about that statement annoyed Cody slightly. Was there an implication in there to suggest that Cody <em>was</em>? Was he taunting him? No - he couldn't possibly have known what he and Paddy had been discussing earlier - or how Cody had felt since then, and all of the jumbled feelings tumbling through his gut - like how the cases they worked so often cycled through his mind at a hundred miles an hour and worked their way under his skin. "That's not what I've heard, Jack," he muttered, thrusting a pint into the older man's hand - and the frothy liquid formed a tidal wave within the glass and dripped down the side - all over Taylor's hand and wrist. And, momentarily, Cody longed to suck the bitter spillage from his skin - with kisses which started at Jack's palm and worked their way up his arm, to his shoulder - his chest - his neck - his <em>mouth</em>. Suddenly, there was a lump in Cody's throat and he couldn't swallow. The tension between the two of them, in that split-second, was hideously palpable.</p><p class="western">"What is that supposed to mean?" Jack said, slowly and with intent.</p><p class="western">"That you didn't think I wouldn't look you up, did you?" Cody replied, mimicking exactly what Jack had said to him that evening when he'd found him hiding outside his house, freezing and wounded. That night he became invaluable to Jack; the night that Jack had slept on his sofa and Cody had watched on, trying to stifle each and every desire he might have had to join him. He was bombarded with those fictitious images of Jack's naked body draped over his, and those strong, protective arms holding him close throughout the night, the blanket half-kicked off to uncover Jack's deliciously pale skin and a smattering of auburn hair. And, by this point - not in his imagination, but in the present day - Jack was eyeballing him, and Cody couldn't think of a single in-character thing that Jack could say to him about this situation, except for 'feck off.' But, to his luck, he didn't have to; Garda Noonan was approaching the pair to discuss the case and the recent health of Jack's mother.</p><p class="western">Jack chatted to Kate at great length and - for most of the dialogue - Cody remained silent, sipping on his drink. So quiet that Kate had felt the need to ask him what was wrong, but he shyly mumbled into his glass, and Jack picked up the conversation in haste. What was he worried about? Frightened that Cody might say something he shouldn't? Well, he needn't have bothered. Farraher simply wasn't that kind of guy. But it was safe to say that something was on Jack's mind, because he ploughed through his drinks like a train that night, and - in the time it had taken Cody to finish off his third pint, and the landlord had rang the chimes for last orders, Jack had worked his way through several - whiskey chasers and all. On the one hand, it was understandable given the news about his ma, but it was clear to Cody that this was about more than just that. Garda Noonan had since departed, with a kiss to Jack's stubbled cheek; it was left to Cody to carry the poor bastard home, as he almost couldn't stand.</p><p class="western">They stumbled into the street. It was a sight the people of Galway were more than used to. Farraher had Taylor's arm looped round him, so that he could walk - or at least, <em>attempt </em>to walk - without falling down. He'd been sprawled out unconscious on the pavement once already today, but Cody thought he would excuse him, seeing as - earlier - he'd been knocked down by a car. By the time they had crossed over to the other side of the road, he realised that Jack was no longer trying to walk, and the boy had two options - to either drag him or stop altogether. He chose the latter, his gaze fixed on Jack as the older man tried to catch his breath - his gasps creating vapour in the icy air, one after the next, like puffs of smoke from a well-lit cigar. And Jack certainly had his reasons for feeling breathless. He had no problem facing criminals; for fuck's sake, he'd been shot at, mowed down and beaten silly in the last week. But, dealing with his emotions? He'd always had repression and a bottle for that.</p><p class="western">"When someone asks a question like that," Taylor looked him straight in the eye, "They're looking for an answer." He ran trembling fingers along his face - and Cody had convinced himself it was the drink causing him to shake - but, in truth, it was fear - the fear of genuine intimacy; Jack's conquests were always flings and one-night stands - never anyone he truly cared about, because he knew, deep down, that he would go and ruin their lives. Cody was too precious for that. But he was close - <em>so</em> close - and he was wanting. "When someone asks a question in such a way as that," he ran a tongue over his lips, "It's one they already know the answer <em>to</em>." Cody tried to turn his head away, so that Jack could not see that the emotional toil of this was getting to him too, but he failed in that - Jack knew him too well. "I'm in need," he pressed Farraher's hand to his groin - he was hard in his jeans, already, at the thought - and the coat-tails of his navy blue Garda coat - coarse and fuzzy to the touch, like scotchbrite, with its golden buttons shimmering in the light of the full moon - could barely disguise his arousal. "But I would never have asked <em>you</em>, lad," his voice purred, "We're too close to let something like that ruin everything."</p><p class="western">"But what about the other... men?" Cody said, still astonished by the words coming out of his own mouth. "The ones you..." he tailed off, eyes scanning Jack up and down with disbelief - as the person he was referring to and the man in front of him honestly could not be one the same.</p><p class="western">"They're nothing, Cody," Taylor soothed, "They're nobodies."</p><p class="western">"But why them? Why choose those random fellas over me?" Farraher cried out, like a petulant child.</p><p class="western">"Because of just that. They're nothing to me. They're a hard fuck on a long winter's night," Jack growled, and the phrasing of that sentence had Cody biting down on his lip; he wasn't sure that he'd ever heard Jack use the said obscenity for such a purpose before. They didn't really discuss their love lives, and maybe that was partly because Cody didn't have one. But, perhaps all of that was about to change on this very eve. "No strings attached. That's what I like. That's why I turned to men in the first place. No chance for the emotional <em>fucking</em> blackmail, manipulation and deceit. No tears. No arguments. No. Love. Lost."</p><p class="western">Taylor hadn't even realised the irony in his own drunken, rambling tirade; Taylor was in love - he'd been in love too many times, had loved (and lost) too many people, and was currently in love with more than one person, with one of those having left the pub half an hour ago - and the other standing before him now. Of course, he never really let anybody in. Who would want to see <em>his</em> tortured soul? But this led to unexpected complications within his own head, and the not sharing or telling of his feelings to anyone would only ever result in them intensifying to a degree that not one man alive could stand. He'd barely even thanked Cody for all of his hard work; how on earth could he now tell him how much he adored him? And, as for the arguments, this one had turned into a blazing row in the middle of the street. As for <em>tears</em>, Cody's eyes were currently filling with a watery embodiment of his anger and disdain for Jack. The penny had dropped for the former Guard; he had to put this right.</p><p class="western">Cody had been on the verge of walking away from Jack when he'd felt hot, chapped lips meet with his, taking him completely by surprise. They felt like a sheet of sandpaper moving over smooth, finished wood, and it was a sensation Cody could hardly ignore if he tried - Jack's mouth moving against his, capturing his own lips over and over in a desperate kiss. Jack's slippery tongue - perhaps even slippier and more difficult to pin down than the man himself, and that was some feat - forced itself through the barrier of Cody's lips, and flicked inside, lashing and kicking around. And Cody became a mound of melting gloop, in his own mind - oozing through Jack's fingers, becoming a part of him until nothing remained of himself, as if they were one. It sounded schmaltzy, but Farraher had always had a hell of an imagination and, like Taylor, loved the odd book or two. He'd read countless noir thrillers, pulp fiction paperbacks, but he didn't talk about the romance novels which were his guilty pleasure. <em>Fuck,</em> did Jack seem like he'd just strolled out of one; the dashing knight just couldn't compare.</p><p class="western">Jack tasted of whiskey. That wasn't a shock. But it was a surprise how the taste of the Jamesons seemed to combine so fantastically with Jack's own, unique taste - the essence of Jack; not wanting to be too crude, the <em>taste </em>of Jack's spit. The mixture was special for Cody, as if he had discovered a cocktail which no-one else had blessed enough to drink. 'The Jack Sour' he would call it; apt in so many ways. He parted from Taylor's needy, unrelenting lips. "You can have me any time you want, Jack," he surrendered himself, "But I have to warn you... I'll still be there in the morning, Jack. I won't run away. I'll be there for breakfast. I'll be there for lunch. I won't want to leave you, Jack. If that's too much for you to handle then we need to stop right now." The confession halted Taylor in his tracks, and the bearded man placed a hand on Cody's chest, taking a moment to compose himself. But he said nothing, initially, and simply resumed where he had left off - only, this time, placing fast and hungry kisses along the side of Farraher's neck, making him whimper with delight.</p><p class="western">"I'm so turned on by you, Cody," Jack murmured, into his ear, "I want it now." He animalistically ground against Cody's thigh, and the younger man could feel the solid erection pressing into his leg. How anyone could have been so sexually excited under the influence of this much booze was an enigma, but Jack never did anything by halves. In fact, it was almost completely likely that Jack had never had intercourse without the aid of alcohol in his entire life. Jack himself would have admitted it. The sobering up came soon after, when daylight was streaming through the blinds, and a writhing figure would emerge from the duvet, often a face he hardly recognised, or wished he hadn't - and they always wanted to snuggle, or <em>talk</em>, or imply that what was occurring was in any way a <em>relationship</em>. And, yet, the notion of him and Cody kissing and cuddling together in bed, watching Morning Ireland - and fooling around until noon without a care in the world - suddenly seemed oddly appealing to Jack, and almost <em>nice</em>. Since when had he become such a big girl's blouse? No, he decided - down to the matter at hand; he unzipped his fly and clutched at Cody's fingers. Not before long, they were rooting around inside the denim, finding Jack's length fully immersed within their grasp.</p><p class="western">"We can't, Jack - not here," Cody had protested, with a hiss, and now Jack couldn't really understand why he didn't want to continue.</p><p class="western">"It doesn't embarrass me, kid. I've been face-down in every gutter from here to Donegal. I don't <em>care</em> what people think of me," came the counter. But, then, it occurred to Taylor that everything wasn't always about him all of the time - and that he should have known that, given that Farraher was quite possibly one of the few people he had <em>truly</em> come to care about, other than himself. "It's <em>you</em>. You care about your reputation. I understand. You don't want to be seen shagging an old drunk who's old enough to be your da."</p><p class="western">"It's not that," there was a loud retaliation, and then Cody looked around to see if anyone was listening, before quietening down considerably, "It's not that."</p><p class="western">Jack shoved him by the shoulder, with a wide grin. "I'm just winding you up," he chuckled, smiling softly as he watched Cody's expression change, "Tell you what... Help me get home, and maybe we'll see what <em>happens</em> once we get there." By now, the look on Cody's face was brightening by the second. "Just don't wake Mrs. B, or I'll have you by your balls!" he exclaimed, erupting into raucous laughter.</p><p class="western">"I thought you didn't like me calling her that," the younger man teased, the pair of them beginning to walk on together.</p><p class="western">"Cody... There are a <em>lot</em> of things I like about you... I would just never be caught telling you," Jack bellowed, clapping a hand to his back as they staggered into the distance.</p>
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